


Patience

by hilaryfaye



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Agender Sandy, Fem!Pitch, Other, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:03:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some meetings are meant to be held away from the sight of the moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

_Cursed rain,_ the spirit thought, pulling the hood of her cloak lower over her face. Rain barely warmer than ice slid over the black fabric and dripped to the ground. The ghostly mare she rode—more smoke than horse—took no notice of the foul weather, plodding on through the dark streets. 

A thunderstorm would have been one thing. People cowered away from the thunder and lightning, and would have glimpsed mere flashes of the rider as she passed by, their fear sweet and sharp. 

But who cowered away from a simple autumn downpour? The spirit shook her head, sending a spray of droplets into the dark, damp night. She glowered with yellow eyes down the length of the street, her frozen hands clutching the reins of her mare. Even she wasn’t immune to the weather, even with her power growing as All Hallows Eve approached. 

_Waxing and waning like the moon,_ she thought sourly.  _And only the nightmares of mortals for succor._

There was much she would have given to be aught else than she was.  _  
_

Pitch turned her face skyward, into the rain, sensing another spirit. Sensing their warmth, their sweetness—she recognized them before she saw the tendrils of gold light wending their way through the darkened corners, seeking her out. 

She turned the mare round, riding out to meet them. 

Sandman, they called this spirit—though they were no man or woman, but something else. Something those mortals couldn’t put a name to. 

A star full of dreams. 

The tendrils of golden light slipped through the air like ribbons. Pitch reached up a hand, her long fingers brushing one. For a moment, a spurt of dark corruption, and then the ribbons fell away, and the star appeared, smiling pleasantly. 

Pitch did not smile back, but something of pleasure glimmered in her eyes. “Hello, Sandy.”

The star gave a sweeping bow, still smiling. They sat, then, on a cloud of dreamsand, joining Pitch on her nightly rounds. 

The rain had lightened somewhat, but not enough for Pitch to remove her hood. “I did not expect to see you tonight,” Pitch said. “Did you come because the clouds blocked out the moon?”

Sandy smiled again, that knowing smile. 

Pitch hid a smirk. “Of course you did. I thought patience was supposed to come with age?”

Sandy frowned then, and Pitch chuckled. They were nearly of an age, Pitch only a slightly younger spirit—but she never let Sandy forget that they were the elder. 

The pair traveled in silence for some time—Sandy was well-suited to silence, and on nights like these, Pitch had little to say. 

But that did not stop her from trying. 

"I saw that new spirit. The little drowned boy the Man in the Moon pulled up out of the lake. What does he mean to do with him?"

Sandy shrugged. They must have noticed the boy, too, but they had little interest in him as of yet. Sandy liked to watch things unfold. In some ways, they  _were_  more patient than Pitch. 

"Hmph. Well, so much good it did for the boy’s sister. Crying in her sleep every night." 

Sandy raised an eyebrow at Pitch, who scowled. 

"Grief isn’t like fear. Grief is muddy and too hot. Fear—that’s clear as crystal, and sharp." Pitch snapped the reins of her mare, and they trotted a little faster, bouncing Pitch in the saddle in a rather undignified way.

Sandy swooped to keep up, seeming unperturbed on their little cloud. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, just enough to be annoying. Pitch glanced up at the sky, her Nightmares skating through the darkness, trying to outrun Sandy’s dreams. A little game of chase, with teeth. 

"Still keeping up that show?" Pitch asked, glancing over her shoulder. "I would think your friends would have figured it out by now. Or are you that much of a mystery to them?"

Sandy shrugged, and smiled. They kept their secrets close. 

Pitch huffed, rubbing her hands and trying to warm them. So much good that asking questions did her. 

"The moon will be new on All Hallows Eve," Pitch said softly. 

Sandy nodded. They knew. They always knew. 

"Ah, I miss the days when I could do something magnificent. Now with your friends always hanging over my shoulder, I can hardly enjoy my own season."

Sandy made no gesture of reply. Pitch glanced at them. “Don’t you take any interest in the things that go on around you?”

Sandy inclined their head in a nod. 

"And me?"

Sandy blew a dozen gold butterflies in Pitch’s direction. Normally Pitch hated Sandy’s dreamsand creatures, but the butterflies… well. 

She let them flutter around her, slipping into the dry protection of her hood and nesting in her ragged black hair. They breathed a little warmth back under her skin, and something of calm. Pitch sighed, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment, only to snap back open at the movement from Sandy.

They were giggling.

Pitch scowled. “Old fool,” she muttered, turning her mare back around. “Never can resist making fun of me, can you?” She spurred the mare to a gallop, drawing her up above the trees, into the rain, and then above the clouds, where at last it was dry. Pitch pulled back her hood, scowling up at the moon. Sandy wouldn’t follow her here—be seen with her under the moon’s gaze. 

She rode for a few minutes, before even her anger was not enough to keep her under the Man in the Moon’s eyes. She ducked again under the clouds—and fortunately, it was not raining there.

And Sandy was waiting. 

"Did you follow me all this way?"

They nodded.

Pitch turned her face away, though she was certain Sandy must have already seen the smile that had crept to her lips. 

They could have chased the night forever, if they chose—but they knew their time was limited. They had duties to attend to. 

Sandy gave her a parting kiss, lips tasting of cinnamon and sugar. Pitch drew curled fingers along the star’s cheek, eyes glimmering. “They should have known better than to send stars against the dark.”

Sandy pinched Pitch’s nose in their small hand and gave her head a slight shake, a mischievous look on their face. Pitch smiled and laughed, tossing her tangled hair back over her shoulder. She gave Sandy a poke in the ribs and looked toward the clouds. “They’re waiting for you, little star.” 

Sandy stuck out their tongue at Pitch and then grinned, spiraling up into the clouds on the back of a massive dreamsand owl. Pitch watched them go, her mare pawing at the damp earth. “Patience,” Pitch purred, stroking their neck. “All Hallows Eve is coming.” 


End file.
